


Prayer In Tea

by farfetched



Series: Haikyuu Soulmark AU [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Drunk Oikawa Tooru, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Iwaizumi is angry, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Oblivious Iwaizumi Hajime, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 03:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11073339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farfetched/pseuds/farfetched
Summary: Hajime can't return Oikawa's feelings for him. If he did, he would have done so already. And he would know.Right?Or, he is not Oikawa's only soulmate, tea is made, and Iwaizumi realises maybe things just aren't quite as clear as he thought they were.





	Prayer In Tea

The problem isn't that Oikawa has some undefined but certainly not just friendly feelings for him. 

It's that Hajime cannot return them. 

It's not like he minds, or at least, he wouldn't; he'd realised sometime during high school and just let the issue lie, hoping Oikawa would just get over it. Some days he's more convinced it's happened than others, and some days he just hopes and then Oikawa will do or say something, and Hajime will internally grimace. 

They are friends. They are soulmates. That he won't deny. They've been around each other so long that they just kind of fit, despite the way that if Hajime had just met Oikawa, he'd probably try to run the other way. He does get on with Oikawa, in a similar way that he can tell Kageyama and the shrimpy spiker get on. It's more insults than anything between them, but it's not due to hostility. 

He just doesn't like him _like that_. Hajime almost wished he would, in a way, because it'd probably be easier. He doesn't know what his life is like without Oikawa constantly interrupting it and demanding his attention, and making all his shitty comments. And one day, Oikawa is going to get over this and move on and find someone else, and then Hajime is going to have to find out. He’ll also have to watch what he does. 

The girlfriends Oikawa does briefly get don't tend to like him much. They find him scary. Probably doesn't help that they are always around Oikawa and Oikawa is usually either pandering to them obnoxiously or ignoring them, and Hajime kind of has to intervene because how does he not see that this is why all his relationships end- 

Turns out, girlfriends don't tend to approve of their boyfriends getting hit, even if said boyfriend was being an ass immediately prior. Hajime doesn't really get it, but it's a reflex more than anything, and he doesn't feel inclined to stop. Whoever does end up with Oikawa eventually for more than a month will have to deal with him in a manner that's similar to Hajime, and sometimes he swears pain is the only way to get through to Oikawa. 

It's something he considers when Oikawa calls him up in the middle of class and leaves a very screechy message that makes no sense. Hajime thinks his mum must have died or something, and he excuses himself to return it- 

" _Iwa-chan my soul mark hurts!_ " Oikawa shrieks at him, beside himself. 

Hajime blinks, once twice, three times. Pinches the bridge of his nose, and wishes he could punch someone down the phone. 

"You phoned me in the middle of class because your soul mark hurts." He says, to confirm the utter stupidity. 

" _Of course! Don't you think-_ " 

Hajime will deal with it later. He's not missing class for some random problem Oikawa is having that he thinks is worth so much attention. It’s not urgent, and for a few moments there, Hajime was genuinely worried there was a problem; this can be payback for making him think something had happened. He hangs up, and puts his phone on silent, and ignores it for the rest of the day. 

How did he end up with the single most ridiculously over dramatic soulmate? Why does he only have one, for starters?

Everyone else has two, or three. Oikawa has about five because he's weird. 

Not that Hajime cares all that much. He can't fall in love with Oikawa, because he would have done it by now, and to be honest, that's kind of a relief. The thought of having to manage his stupid ass all the time is exhausting. 

(But maybe natural.)

* * *

Oikawa, of course, refuses to just let him ignore it, and turns up at his flat later, jams his foot in the door when Hajime slams it, proceeds to whine about his shoes and strolls in when Hajime gives up the fight of keeping him and his stupid problems out of his house. 

"Iwa-chan you brute! Don't slam the door on me! These are valuable feet, they can't be broken!" He moans, following Hajime to the kitchen. He needs coffee to deal with Oikawa. 

"Maybe don't come pestering me about pointless things then, Shittykawa." He growls. 

“Iwa-chan!” He protests, while Hajime puts water in the coffee machine and turns it on, glaring at it like it can solve all his problems with his dumbass soulmate. “It’s very serious! You ought to be worried about me, your oldest friend-” 

Oldest friend. Is that a pass to come and bother him over the smallest things? _Hurry up_ , he urges the coffee machine, because then at least he’ll have something in his hands which might stop him hitting Oikawa. He thinks throwing boiling hot coffee at him would be a little much, even for him, but it would add an extra threat and maybe get idiots to leave him alone so he can do other stuff, like go to the gym, or get dinner. Study. Whatever. 

“What is the emergency about some dumb soulmark?” He hisses, scowling at the table top. It’s moments like this he really can’t stand. When he’s being used as a wall with ears because he’s the only person even halfway willing to listen, to respond. He can guarantee half of Japan knows that Oikawa’s soulmark – which one, anyway? – has hurt, and he’s the only one dumb enough to forget that Oikawa knows where he lives and will get a train from Nagoya to get there just to bug him. 

Fatal mistake: phoning him back. If it had been something serious, the answerphone message would have made sense, and he’d have texted too. It showed even a hint of interest. He shouldn’t have done it. The best he can hope for now is to get Oikawa to see it’s stupid and not worth any kind of train journey and then maybe he’ll go home. 

That’s a lie. He’ll probably want to sleep here, try stealing Hajime’s bed, and then find himself dumped on the floor. At some point, Hajime will probably find him trying to sneak in next to him because even though Oikawa is twenty whole years old, he still probably got freaked out by some horror movie he’d watched three days ago. 

Oikawa pauses for a long moment.  
"Iwa-chan, it's not dumb..." He murmurs, and _that_ makes him turn around, despite his better instincts. Oikawa doesn't do subdued. He does pomp and circumstance, does flouncing and amateur dramatics, loud and attention seeking. It's when he's quiet he actually means it. 

"I need coffee." Hajime says, instead of responding, which Oikawa knows is his way of saying that he's actually going to listen. He makes it, makes Oikawa a tea with two sugars and an illegal amount of milk because geez, why does he like it like that, it's horrid, and plonks it down in front of Oikawa, pulling up a seat and staring at him, in a silent invitation to speak. 

"It hurt." Oikawa starts, pouting. Hajime is mentally trying to decide whether he's pulling the wool over his eyes too, but then Oikawa frowns at the table, that expression where he's trying to work it out. "They never hurt." 

He's right, of course. Soul marks just exist. A random skin link between humans that some think mean they are destined to remain together. Hajime just thinks it's a contract he never signed that Oikawa is going to be pissing him off for a very, very long time. 

"And? Was it actually that, or was it just cramp or some dumb shit?" 

"No!" He contests. "Iwa-chan you don't believe me!" He's heading towards theatrical, and Hajime is heading towards punching him. He takes a sip of coffee instead to subdue any violent urges. 

"I don't, because they don't hurt. You probably just bruised it or something. Why did you have to phone me about it?" He mutters, taking his phone out of his pocket, and raises an eyebrow at the number of messages. From the fact that he had some exasperated messages from Matsukawa, Hanahaki _and_ Yahaba, he's not the only one who's been contacted. Those are only the people that actually bothered to check with him, unofficially Oikawa's keeper, whether it's serious or not, because Oikawa is not qualified to decide what are actual problems. Hajime is about 80% of his common sense, he swears. "I can get kicked out, you know." 

"Iwa-chan-"  
"Stop calling me that." He remarks as he scans the texts from his former teammates. As he watches, a text comes through from Kyoutani, in capitals and complaining about Yahaba. Again. 

In English, too. Kyoutani had regaled him with that rant once, how he’s going to go to America. It is, apparently, the only lesson he does well in, although probably more due to lack of trying in any of the others. 

“Hajime.” He looks up. Oikawa has his hands around the mug of tea, obscuring the pattern. Hajime thinks it’s one his mum got him as a moving out present. It’s unofficially become Oikawa’s mug; it’s the only one pompous enough to deal with his presence, and Hajime has always wondered if that was the meaning behind it. _He’s not leaving you, Hajime, and you know you don’t really want him to_ , it says to him, every time he opens the cupboard. 

Oikawa is looking at him, but all traces of confidence have gone. He is scared. 

“Hajime, it changed.” He whispers, eyes wide. 

Hajime doesn’t know how to react, really. He feels like he ought to snort, because soulmarks don’t change. They just are. They are there when you are born, and they are there every day of your life, and they are there when you die. That’s just facts. Aside from grevious injury, they don’t change, and even then, they still shine through, like an endless _fuck you_ to anyone who hates them. 

“Okay, explain.” He says, and a small smile turns Oikawa’s lips upwards. Hajime thinks maybe this is when he can actually consider that he likes Oikawa, because he’s not being an endless ass, he’s not acting up to a crowd or pretending or hiding anything, he just is. 

He explains, in surprisingly undramatic terms, how he’d been practicing when it had hurt, like a stabbing pain. The rest of his team had been quite confused, but it had gone as quickly as it had started, so he’d ignored it. 

But it had happened again, worse this time, and it had made him catch his breath and fall, legs going from under him in surprise, and the coach had made him sit to one side, and then it had stung like a fresh cut, and he doesn’t get it. 

It’s one of the ones he hasn’t linked, yet. 

Not that that’s saying much. Despite his best efforts, Oikawa has only matched two of his marks; the one to Hajime on his neck, almost behind his ear, matching the one just above his ankle, and one on his shoulder, matched in position too, linking him with his nephew. Takeru had never been quite so pleased with that outcome, but perhaps that’s more because Oikawa flaunts it wherever he goes, much like he does with the rest of them. 

“What are you going to do about it?” Hajime asks once he’s finished. He doesn’t really get it, because it just doesn’t happen, and he does still suspect that maybe Oikawa is making it up, he just had stomach cramp or stitch or something, but he does show Hajime, and it does look like it’s lightened. 

(Too many years of seeing him getting changed, too many years of being shown, he knows Oikawa’s marks better than his own, but then, Oikawa had linked them aged five and Hajime’s never taken much time to look at it since.)

Oikawa looks faintly haunted when he murmurs that he doesn’t have a clue. 

Hajime tells him to drink his disgusting tea, probably cold, and says it’s probably nothing, and it won’t happen again.

* * *

He’s about to shout when he opens the door into the storm, but he doesn’t really get a chance, Oikawa flops forwards listlessly and Hajime has no choice but to catch him, taking the bottle of- oh. 

Oh no. 

Hajime hates it most when Oikawa has any kind of alcohol. 

Oikawa is the lightest weight to ever hit the earth, which is ridiculous, because much to his own disdain, Hajime never caught up with him on height. It’s not like he looks like he ought to be one, but for some reason, Oikawa cannot handle pretty much any alcohol. 

“The fucking hell-” he starts, angry, because why is he here, why isn’t he in Nagoya, why isn’t he anywhere else and why is he drunk, what the hell. 

“It’s him, Hajime!” As if he needed any confirmation of his state. Oikawa only calls him that without him asking if he’s being serious or he’s drunk. “It’s him, I don’t- why?!” He whines, high pitched and grating in his ear. Hajime has a choice of keeping hold of the bottle or Oikawa. He chooses the bottle, because he’s putting it down the sink right now. Oikawa is not having anything else, except water. 

So Oikawa slumps down onto the floor, and hiccups slightly, and Hajime does not know what to do so he retreats, removing the bottle and pouring it down the kitchen sink without sparing a glance to what it is. It’s probably not the only bottle Oikawa’s had his hands on, and it lights a rage in him, why is he always the fall-back option, why is he always the leaning post- 

But he has a drunk friend to deal with. Even if said friend brought it on himself, even if he’s so angry he can barely think right now, he has a problem and he’ll pragmatically deal with it. 

When he returns, Oikawa hasn’t moved, slumped on the doormat, dripping everywhere and swaying slightly. His hands are covering his face but his eyes are open, and they flick to Hajime, morose and stunned and genuine, for once. 

“Stand up.” Hajime demands. He’s so angry, and he’s not sure he’s going to get any sense out of Oikawa, and it hurts that he’s the last option, for when Tohru has fallen so far he won’t let anyone else see, only him, because Hajime has seen it all before. “Stand up, Oikawa. You can do that much.” 

But he doesn’t. His hands fall from his face, as do tears, and he’s a mess, his face red and ugly and twisted but true in a way he’ll never show anyone else. Right now, Hajime isn’t impressed. He doesn’t want to see the truth. It’s ugly and painful and he wants to sleep. 

“Stand up!” He demands again, and Oikawa reaches forward uncertainly, pinches the material of Hajime’s trousers between his thumb and forefinger, and pulls forward weakly, once, twice. His breath catches in his throat, and he looks _pathetic_. 

Hajime sighs with the inevitability of it, and crouches down to his level. 

“What.” He says, and Oikawa snorts wetly, relinquishes his grip to pull Hajime to him, or himself to Hajime, he’s really not sure, and they end up in an uncomfortable pile because he found a burst of strength and speed from somewhere, overbalanced Hajime and they are both sodden on the hallway to Hajime’s flat, and Hajime grits his teeth. 

“It’s him, why does it- Hajiiiiime whyyyy…” He whines under his breath, and hugs him closer, pressing his nose into the dip just above Hajime’s collarbone. It’s disgusting, he’s been snivelling and rained on and he’s cold, so Hajime flinches, but he can’t move away. The grip Oikawa has on him is too strong to resist, pushing him against the wall near the kitchen door, their legs folded underneath them both in a mess that’s painful, and Hajime feels like hitting him. 

“Make sense, drunk Shittykawa!” He hisses, but Oikawa just pulls him even closer, makes it difficult to breathe.  
“Tobio-chan, it’s To-bi-o- _chaaaaaaaan_!” He whines, and shifts enough so he can show Hajime the mark on his stomach, a gash of dark blue Hajime has seen too many times, but rarely this close, and certainly not while Oikawa’s drunk. It looks like he might have scratched it, the skin around it unusually red, while the actual thing stands out as lighter than he remembers it. Oikawa’s face remains pressed close against him, skin cold and breath hot, shaking with something that’s not laughter. 

Hajime links all these things together sluggishly. 

So Kageyama is one of Oikawa’s soulmates? 

That’s just stupid. On both parts, although maybe it explains the utter jealousy Oikawa holds towards Kageyama, and Hajime half wants to know how he even found out, because they don’t really talk – not since Kageyama got onto the National Team (youngest member ever, and now he thinks about it, that was one of the times Oikawa turned up at his drunk) – but most of him just wants space. His feet are going dead with the extra weight and the odd angles, and the anger is just building, because he feels used again, feels like a crutch and goddamn if he’s not better than that. He’s Oikawa’s friend but he’s not some tool to be used, like Oikawa uses everyone else. 

With some difficulty, he pushes Oikawa away. He gets a betrayed look in return. 

“So what?” Brown eyes stare at him, impossibly wide and full of tears, he’s such a fucking mess- “You are drunk, I’m not listening to anything you say until you aren’t.” He states, and wrenches himself away from Oikawa, standing up, and sorely tempted to stomp on his hands when Oikawa chases him, grabs his ankle. It takes him a moment to realise what’s being done, Oikawa seeking the mark that joins them. 

He does this too, when he’s upset. Hajime has woken up before to find Oikawa staring at it, as if he’s never seen it before, and he’ll apologise but only insincerely, and it always leaves a bad taste in his mouth. It makes him want to kick Oikawa in the face. 

“Hajime, we- we’re… we are linked, right?” He slurs, his eyes travelling up Hajime’s body slowly until they land on his face. He looks disgustingly vulnerable, why is Hajime the one burdened with this, the mess under the façade? 

“Right now, I wish we weren’t.” He spits. “Let go, you are going to sleep. I’ll knock you out.” 

Oikawa looks heartbroken, and he almost take it back, almost realises that it hurts to see him like that, genuinely hurt because of him, but- 

Then he smiles, covers it up, laughs, fake.  
“Iwa-chan so violent!” 

The rage overflows. Hajime hauls him up just by his jacket, and Oikawa does look scared. He doesn’t say anything, Oikawa making pathetic complaints as Hajime hauls him through the flat and throws him on the bed. He only doesn’t throw him out because he’ll get more alcohol if he does that. (Hajime doesn’t want him dead, he just hates being used, hates being a crutch, emotional or otherwise, with no need, no explanation, just expectation that Hajime will always be there to hold him up when no one else will, he’s fed up of it.) 

He pauses, hand pressed to his collarbone, pressing Oikawa onto the bed, hating the way he smells, how he’s making Hajime stay up late on a work night, how he’s making Hajime change the sheets and deal with him both drunk and hungover eating his food and making a mess. He scowls. 

“You’re going to sleep. If you throw up, I’ll murder you.” He hisses, and goes to remove himself from the vicinity before he punches something, the most likely candidate the absolute idiot taking up his time, his space- 

Oikawa flails, and grabs him, drags him closer and presses his lips onto Hajime’s, desperate and awful and _this isn’t meant to happen this isn’t how he wanted it to happen-_

Hajime freezes. Oikawa takes his lack of response not as a negative sign, and pushes onwards, pulling him closer again. It’s simple comfort for him, something he’s used to, Hajime’s seen it, he’ll make out with people because it makes him feel needed, feel wanted, makes him feel good, and how many times does Hajime think this has happened in Nagoya, random people of all genders subject to his disgusting charm and deciding for one night they want Oikawa, only to discover he’s a monster underneath and ugly after all, and leaving him. 

Hajime isn’t here for comfort. He’s not a fucking crutch, to be used and left! Either Oikawa stays, or he goes, there isn’t a middle ground! 

He feels sick with it as he shoves Oikawa away, vicious and panicked. He doesn’t look twice at him, kicks the bin closer to the bed, but it ends up upside down with his rage, debris strewn over the floor and Hajime wants to scream, curse, punch someone, and hate with all his being. He slams the door behind him, saying nothing. 

He can’t.

* * *

Morning finds his knuckles bleeding and bruised and the walls showing his injuries. Morning finds him sleepless, too angry to do anything calm. Morning finds him coming in from a run – more of a sprint, with added cursing – to find Oikawa sheepishly emerging from his room. 

Hajime stops, looks away. He can’t bear to look, can’t bear to remember, wants to ask what it meant, did it mean anything at all to him, has he gotten over his stupid crush on him and teasing him now he feels like Hajime might be falling and using him. 

“Get out.” He says, voice low, tight with control. He’s almost too tired for anger. He just wants to be free of this, right now. He doesn’t want to think about it. 

“Iwa-”  
“Get out.” He repeats. He must sound serious, because Oikawa gathers his things, perhaps recognising any words will push Hajime over the edge. 

He pauses at the door. Hajime has sat, the whole time, his face stony, because if he does anything, if he moves, he’ll attack, he’ll scream. Hajime doesn’t look at him. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m-”  
“Get out.” He doesn’t want apologies. Doesn’t want anything Oikawa has to offer him right now. The only answer he gets is the door shutting. 

He’s glad. A lot of him still wants to go out and punch Oikawa in his stupid face. The best he can do is nothing, and ignore the entire issue.

* * *

Considering that the only person who visits without prior warning is the one he’s not talking to or thinking about in any way, Hajime thinks it’s perfectly reasonable to tear the door open with the darkest scowl he can muster on his face, and nearly growls. He only stops because that’s not- he doesn’t have black hair or a sleepy expression. 

Matsukawa raises an eyebrow at him.  
“Who crawled up your ass and died?” He remarks, and Hajime sneers, but lets him in. He saunters in, says yes when Hajime begrudgingly offers him a coffee, and settles himself in the living room while Hajime makes it. 

They make small talk for a bit. It’s nothing either of them actually don’t know, things they’ve both said on the group chat before Hajime stopped responding on it; he’s still conversed with his old teammates though, Kyoutani weirdly into testing Hajime’s English skills – perhaps annoyed he couldn’t beat him in athletic pursuits – Yahaba asking how he dealt with Kyoutani. Watari asking how you deal with two idiots who keep arguing no matter what he does. Hanamaki sends him memes fairly often, and generally pictures of things, mainly protein shakes, because he has this odd thing that Hajime likes them (he doesn’t). Matsukawa complains about work and sends selfies of him and Hanamaki oddly frequently, but then, they do room together, at the same university. 

Then they stop, and Matsukawa huffs a bemused laugh, leaning back and watching Hajime with a piercing look. 

“You fought with Oikawa.” He states. Hajime grunts in agreement, although it hardly requires it. Even his old teammates have tried – and stopped – breaching the subject. 

Thing is, Hajime is still pissed. Still pissed that Oikawa hasn’t tried to say anything, but he wouldn’t listen. Still pissed that he remembers. Still pissed that it happened at all, where in Oikawa’s mind does he get off thinking it’s okay to just- 

“What happened?” Matsukawa asks, looking weirdly relaxed. “I mean, Oikawa doesn’t seem different, but then he wouldn’t. You’re the only one who can get to him. But you’ve gone radio silent on him, and he’s not really doing all that great.” 

“What?” Hajime shoots back on reflex, then scowls. “Wait, no.” 

Matsukawa waits, and Hajime hasn’t said anything to anyone, so he just talks. Matsukawa might take the piss out of him for it, but hey. He’ll take the chance. He can take Matsukawa. 

“He turned up drunk because he found out Kageyama was his soulmate, and he was freaked out because it changed-”  
“Whaddya mean it changed, soulmarks don’t just change-”  
“Well surprise, Oikawa is a special case. I got annoyed at him.” He says, crossing his arms. 

Matsukawa stays silent, looking at him. Hajime looks back. It is silent for a long moment. 

“He kissed me.” He finally mutters, pissed at the silence. The response he gets is a mouth in the shape of an ‘o’, and a look of dawning realisation.  
“Finally did something, huh…” Matsukawa waits for a moment. “You don’t seem surprised.”  
“I knew he liked me back in school. At some point. Dunno if he still does, but he was drunk, and he didn’t ask.” 

“You knew he liked you the whole time?” Matsukawa actually does seem surprised. “Damn, you never gave any indication, I totally though it was- wait.” He narrows his eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything to him?” 

“What makes you think I didn’t?” Hajime retorts, and then wonders about it himself. Was it bad of him? To not mention it, to let Oikawa down? But then, Oikawa had never made any solid advance on him until- 

He’s not thinking of that. He tightens his grip on the coffee mug, and takes a swig of it. It burns as it goes down, bitter. 

“He would have shown that.” Matsukawa eventually replies, uncertain.  
“You sure? He could get a degree in lying.”  
“Well, that is true. But did you say something?” Hajime’s silence says more than any words. “Why? Did you only just work it out, or like…” 

“I couldn’t…” Hajime is way more than uncomfortable with this. “I don’t. Like that.” He mutters, irritated, at Oikawa, and himself. 

Matsukawa raises an eyebrow.  
“You sure, bro?” Whatever happens to Hajime’s expression, it makes him backtrack. “His soulmark changed? He didn’t say that.” 

Hajime laughs, harsh and grating.  
“He wouldn’t, would he? Don’t mention things he doesn’t get. ‘Sides, he was freaked out enough by being linked to his darling ‘Tobio-chan’.” Hajime whines in a pathetic, if accurate imitation of him, and then drops it. “If he wanted to bone Kageyama, he should have gone to him instead.” He gets the satisfying sound of Matsukawa spitting out his coffee. “Kageyama might’ve been able to actually answer some of his questions. What’d he come to me for?”

“Because he doesn’t want to bone Kageyama?!” Matsukawa squawks once he’s finished coughing, and takes to glaring at Hajime. “Thanks for that image, by the way. Totally needed that.”  
“Pleasure.” He says sardonically, at which Matsukawa snorts.  
“I think you need that, not me.” He’s smirking. Hajime sneers at him, but declines to respond, taking another gulp of coffee. There’s a story there, Hajime thinks, but he’s not really sure he wants to know. Matsukawa sobers up fast though, leaning forward. “He’s not in a good way, you know.” He reaffirms, slightly hesitant. 

“How so.” Hajime states, because at the end of the day, he’s been friends with Oikawa for years and years now, and they are soulmates, however little that means. He does care. He’s just really, really pissed at the moment. Matsukawa shrugs, seeming to be searching for words. 

“He’s… Y’know when you said he was overworking himself in middle school?” He gets a nod. He’d told them that at some point, so the other two could keep an eye out for it. Oikawa’s bad habits of inferiority would get him taken down one day, and Hajime wouldn’t always be there to-

Hajime wouldn’t always be there to… 

What’s happened. 

“What has he done.” Hajime demands, blunt.  
“He injured his knee.” Hajime doesn’t move, but he freezes where he is. Matsukawa snorts. “He needs you, Iwaizumi.” 

“Like hell he does.” He remarks, bitter bitter bitter. He’s so angry, the feeling of lips on his and revelations he didn’t want, he doesn’t know what he wants, just to forget. “He thought he needed me then, and he would’ve just thrown me away again.” 

“You know, me and Taka-” Matsukawa pauses for a second, and then apparently decides to own it. “Me and Takahiro were thinking about this. How long was his longest relationship?”  
“Two months. And three days, I think.” Hajime remembers it, how not-upset Oikawa had been, how he’d seemed relieved, and it’d all seemed so heartless. _He’s afraid, afraid, afraid, but of what?_  
“Two months. And you think he’s liked you for how long now?”  
“I dunno.” Hajime shoots back, obstinate. Matsukawa shoots him a look that promptly tells him he’s not getting away with it. His body itches to escape, to go- go to him? 

He’s pissed.  
“Guess.”  
“I don’t freakin’ know, Matsukawa! I don’t freakin’ care either, because that, whatever the fuck that was, wasn’t anything more than lust, desire, whatever. I could have been anyone to him.” 

“Oh yeah, Iwaizumi. I’m Oikawa. I’m upset, because Kage-freakin’-yama is my soulmate, the dude I hate and am totally jealous of, I don’t even know. I just fancy kissing someone, let’s get the bullet train from Nagoya just to make sure it’s Iwa-chan.” Matsukawa shouts. “You’re fuckin’ scared! You’re terrified! Of losin’ him, you can’t even fuckin’ admit maybe _you_ want more and maybe he wants to give it to you!” 

Hajime feels like he’s pinned to the back of the chair. He doesn’t think he’s even seen Matsukawa so livid outside of a game. He stands up, and looms over Hajime, his expression pissed.  
“So he gets drunk because he doesn’t know what the fuck else to do, hell knows he can’t deal with emotions normally, and turns up, and I don’t fuckin’ know, okay, but you push him away and then his knee fuckin’ breaks and Kageyama’s his soulmate and Tendou fuckin’ Satori tells him Ushiwaka’s another one, you’re still blockin’ him out for a stupid mistake, he’s in the total pits! He needs you, Iwaizumi, and don’t give me any bullshit about it until you’ve gone and at least let him apologise.” 

“Fine!” He yells back, leaping up in a vain attempt to feel less inferior, less small. “Fine, I’ll go kick his ass into gear like I always do, it’s all I ever do!” Storming to his bedroom, because even pissed as heck, he knows he’ll need an overnight bag – although hell if he’s staying at Oikawa’s – he pauses to glare at Matsukawa. “Go on then. And don’t think I’m not asking about Hanamaki later!” He swivels to go, and hears a snort, and the door slam. It doesn’t sound quite so final as it did when Oikawa did it.

* * *

Scowling, he really does wonder why he let Matsukawa talk him into this. _Technically_ , he can hear Hanamaki’s slightly nasal voice snark in his mind, _he didn’t make you do anything_. Instead of thinking more about it, he jams his finger onto the doorbell hard enough to hurt, and curses his motherly instincts. He's gone shopping, because if he knows Oikawa at all, he’s been living on milk bread and ramen. Hajime is pissed, but he will change that. He’s also nervous, and having something to hold is better than nothing. 

Shuffling is the only real warning he gets, and the blurry silhouette of Oikawa stops still just before the door. Hajime waits. 

It opens just slightly.  
“I- I do apologise, the home of Oikawa Tooru is currently unavailable, please leave a-”  
“Have you eaten anything resembling vegetables in the past week?” Hajime asks, and gets a sound suspiciously close to ‘Geh!’ in return. And then the start of a retort. “That wasn’t dried and in a ramen package.” 

Silence meets him, but Oikawa doesn’t close the door. Hajime could say sorry, but he doesn’t know what for, and it’s not in his vocabulary right now, so instead-  
“You need to eat proper food. You’ll never heal on that shit.” The door remains stubbornly ajar, and Hajime has half a mind to barge in, but that would probably jar Oikawa’s knee, and he’s supposed to be here to help. So instead he waits, shifting his weight from one foot onto the other until he hears a prolonged sigh, and the door creaks open wider. 

Oikawa does not exactly look his best. His hair barely even looks combed, although it is washed. It’s a good start. The day Oikawa didn’t wash his hair was the day the world started ending. But there are hints of bags under his wide eyes, faintly bloodshot. Hajime keeps his expression controlled, despite Matsukawa’s words flying through his mind. 

_Can’t admit you want more and maybe he wants to give it to you._

He’s not here to think about that. He’s here to sort Oikawa out and go home. Thinking comes later. 

“Sit down, you moron, and let me in. Go sleep, you look shitty.” He grumbles, and Oikawa tilts his head just slightly, faint smile on his lips. 

“Awww, Iwa-chan, are you-” Hajime makes a glare, and Oikawa shuts up, eyes going wide like he knows there’s a line there nearly crossed, and retreats to the living room. Hajime closes the door behind himself, allows him a few seconds of breathing room, and descends on the kitchen. 

Like expected, it’s covered in debris from ready meals and ramen pots. The stove doesn’t even look like it’s been used, and Hajime pokes it suspiciously; how does Oikawa even survive? Still, he can worry about Oikawa’s ongoing care later, as he goes into automatic pilot, pulling on an apron – who knew there even was one here (Hajime, he’d put it here the first time he’d visited) and starts. 

He’s absently stirring it, curry sauce, and soup on another burner for Oikawa to have some other time, and chicken coated in breadcrumbs ready to fry, when there is a shuffling behind him. He’s been left alone for a surprisingly long time; he doesn’t turn around though. 

He doesn’t say anything either, though. Doesn’t know what to say, so he keep stirring, watching it thicken, wanting something else to do but he’s done everything. 

“You’re such a mom friend Iwa-chan.” Oikawa murmurs, quietly. Subdued. Hajime decides he doesn’t really like it after all.  
“Don’t call me that.” He returns on reflex. “And someone’s got to look after your stupid ass, you don’t seem capable of doing it yourself.” More shuffling. Hajime jolts as arms wrap around his stomach, and Oikawa presses his face between his shoulder blades. It can’t be comfortable, but he lets him; he’s not drunk this time. Besides, Hajime doesn’t want to aggravate his injury. 

(Doesn’t want to shrug him off- dammit Matsukawa!) 

“Sorry, Hajime.” He hears whispered, so quietly he almost doesn’t hear it at all, but Oikawa’s breath ghosts on the back of his neck and he tightens his grip, so imperceptively he doesn’t think Oikawa’s noticed he’s done it. 

“You were supposed to be resting.” Hajime says, rather than a direct reply. He doesn’t know what to say. Taking care of him is easy, so he’ll just do that. Thinking comes later. Thinking comes way later. 

“All I’ve been doing is resting. I’ll get fat, Iwa-chan!” he whines, more normal sounding. Hajime hadn’t realised he could ever miss that obnoxious self-obsessed nature.  
“Well if all you eat is milk bread and ramen, it’s surprising you’re not the size of a whale already.” He shoots back, and keeps stirring. He can’t face Oikawa, but his voice is safe.  
“Mean, Iwa-chan…” He murmurs, but doesn’t relinquish hold of him. 

“Ushiwaka and Kageyama?” Hajime says after a moment. The arms around him stiffen, hands curling into fists, and he feels Oikawa’s nose press into the gap between vertebrae of his spine, cold but not entirely unpleasant. Not as bad as last time. At least he’s not a pathetic crying mess this time. Although that could change. 

“Unfortunately.” He replies mildly, hiding his true thoughts on it. Hajime doesn’t know what to say. “I’m not so sure about Kageyama anymore.” He whispers. Hajime doesn’t know if he was meant to catch it, but he does, and he can’t just leave that. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks, leaning over while moving as little as possible to flick the rice cooker on. Oikawa moves with him, and it feels both weird and natural. Oikawa huffs, turns his face to press his cheek to Hajime’s neck instead, and Hajime can imagine him staring off into the distance. 

“It’s nearly gone, Iwa-chan.” He states, voice level and not giving anything away. No way has he not been affected by this though, he thinks. It’s too even to be natural. “It keeps hurting. Mainly on the weekends. I think maybe it’s Chibi-chan.” Hajime stretches his memory back a year or so, to a small, orange, and bloody fast kid in Karasuno. He snorts at the idea of Kageyama and that kid – Hi- something, he thinks, never that good at names – being soulmates. Doesn’t question the legitimacy of it; Oikawa with a lot of time to think rarely makes the wrong assumptions. “I read some articles about how a second soulmate might be able to erase the colour in the bond if both parties want it enough.” 

“Both parties?” Hajime echoes. He’s turned all the burners down as low as he can; everything is off timing, but they need this conversation. Oikawa needs this conversation. 

“The person and another soulmate of their’s. Can remove a third party bond.” Oikawa says, and it doesn’t make a huge amount of sense, and then he thinks about his one soulmate, hugging him from behind, and snorts. 

“Then I’m stuck with you forever, aren’t I? No convenient soul eraser for me.” He states. There’s no anger in his voice, and none in his thoughts, too. His life has felt weird without Oikawa in it. He pisses Hajime off no end, but they are friends. 

(And maybe, maybe… _Fuck off Matsukawa!_ ) 

Oikawa freezes, and Hajime takes the opportunity to shake him off. 

“Come on, go sit. I’ll bring it out in a bit.” And when there is no movement, he shrugs his shoulders again. “I can’t cook if I can’t move, moron.” 

He thinks he feels Oikawa smile against him. 

“Don’t wanna…”  
“I have chopsticks, I will poke you.”  
“Mean!”

* * *

“So,” Hajime starts awkwardly once they’ve finished, Oikawa stuffing his face with little decorum which perfectly backs up the idea he’s had nothing but ready meals for a while. He almost looks genuinely happy, although he looks less at ease when Hajime starts to speak. It had been quiet, but not uncomfortable. “It’s almost gone?” He asks. Oikawa nods, indeterminable expression, and lifts his shirt up to show him. It’s true. It’s lighter even than the Aoba Jousai jersey colour, and getting weirdly towards translucent. It creeps Hajime out. They’d always seemed so permanent. “Have you asked him about it?” 

Oikawa’s face slides to an ugly expression for a mere second, then to merely displeased.  
“Either Tobio-chan has gotten good at lying, or he really knows nothing about it.” He remarks, then waves his hand with a false breeziness. “It can’t be that he doesn’t know, so Tobio-chan must have learnt to lie. Somehow.” Oikawa curls his lip in distaste. 

“Probably learnt from you, like everything else.” Hajime says.  
“Hrm! Always copying, little _Tobio-chan_.” Hajime can practically taste the bitterness Oikawa looks like he feels as he says it. 

“So you admit you lie.” Oikawa’s eyes widen, and he almost looks pleading when he flutters his eyes at Hajime.  
“I am a true and honest being, Iwa-chan! Don’t be so mean!” He protests, sticking his bottom lip out. Hajime rolls his eyes, standing up. 

“In your dreams, maybe.” He stares down at Oikawa, still pouting at him. Takes a breath. “Y’know, I heard an English proverb the other day. ‘ _Imitation is the highest form of flattery_ ’,” he recites, and he’s sure his English accent is way, way off. Oikawa blinks at him, and Hajime scuttles off to make tea. 

When he returns, he is still getting wide eyes, and he prepares himself for a blithe insult. Sure enough, as soon as he’s seated, bitter coffee before him and disgusting tea concoction in front of the only one mad enough to actually be able to drink it- 

“Iwa-chan, that was surprisingly educated of you.”  
“I will hit you.”  
“Eep! Please don’t!” He throws his hands up, and winces. Must have jolted his knee; it makes Hajime feel guilty. “But there is no way you learnt that yourself. Don’t hit me!” he pleads, which is pathetic and insulting, but also true. But Hajime isn’t that bad at English, not anymore. Not since Kyoutani realised it was a weak spot of his and a strength of his own, and Hajime couldn’t just let himself be beaten by his underclassmen so easily at something he was, in theory at least, a year ahead of. 

“No. Kyoutani taught me.”  
“Mad-Dog Chan?!” Oikawa screeches, understandably shocked. “Taught you?” Hajime just shrugs.  
“Anyway. You ever thought Kageyama wanted to beat you _because_ you were the best?” 

Oikawa blinks at him. Then attains a smug grin.  
“Well of course I’m the best, I’m not going to lose to some prodigy brat. I’m glad you think so too, Iwa-chan!” he says, completely missing the point. Hajime sighs. 

“Whatever. Go to bed. I’ll clean up.”  
“But Iwa-chan, that’s all I’ve done!” Oikawa exclaims, really showing his true age of a two year old. Hajime flaps his hands at him.  
“Yeah, and it’s all you’ll ever do once I’ve finished if you don’t go now.” He says, mildly, starting to stack the plates. Oikawa watches him do it; Hajime feels somewhat like a bug under a microscope. He’s not thinking. He’s not thinking now, and certainly not in Oikawa’s presence. “Go on, Oikawa.” He remarks once he’s done, balancing dirty plates in his hands. He gets a faint smile. 

“Thank you, Iwa-chan.” He whispers, almost too quiet to hear, and Hajime chooses not to react much, grunting and turning away. But he does hear Oikawa heft himself up from the chair and shuffle into his room, closing the door, so that’s a win for Hajime.

* * *

It’s late, and Hajime is in a quandary. 

He’s spent the last few hours in said dilemma, and avoiding it by useful procrastination, like cleaning the near entirety of Oikawa’s apartment, which looks like it hasn’t really been done well for a while. Understandable, if disgusting. Hajime doesn’t mind cleaning, though. It starts with the kitchen, a natural progression from washing up and putting stuff away, and segues into dusting and vacuuming, because he swears he knows where the cleaning stuff is better than Oikawa does. 

It’s weird. For someone so obsessed with looking good himself, his apartment is a tip. By the time Hajime is finished, it’s clean, but also later than he’d planned. Way later, and he’s tired. His will to not stay here is warring with that, and the knowledge that if he wants any kind of blanket – it’s not that warm, yet – it’s in Oikawa’s room. Oikawa is notoriously bad at sleeping at the best of times, but he also probably woke him up while vacuuming, something he’d not considered on his cleaning rampage. 

The bedroom door looms a lot larger than it should have done. 

_Admit you want- admit he might want-¬_

Hajime grits his teeth. He’s not afraid, not of Matsukawa and his implications, his accusations, and not of Oikawa. Not of his own mind. 

Still, he doesn’t have to do anything yet. He gets ready first, taking extra care to shower and brush his teeth, sort his stuff out, set an alarm on his watch (guaranteed it won’t work though, it never does) and then stands outside Oikawa’s door. 

Taking a breath, he slides it open, with perhaps a little more force than required. 

From the bed, there is a small ‘Eep!’ and motion, sleepy eyes blinking at him, squinting in the low light. Hajime is kind of surprised, he really didn’t think Oikawa would be asleep- but he’s here to get a blanket, not check on Oikawa, or do anything else. There is a sofa with his name on it, quiet and separate and completely and totally _alone_. 

He marches to the cupboards. He is watched. He slides that open, softer this time. He is watched. He fumbles in the gloom for a blanket, going mainly on feel, on instinct, and pulls one out. He is watched. 

“Hajime…” It’s hushed, but he hears it. He stills. “Iwa-chan I’m cold.” Whispered. 

He’s here to get a blanket to sleep under on the sofa. He’s not doing anything else, he doesn’t want to do anything else. 

He throws the blanket vaguely in the direction of Oikawa’s face while he gets the uncomfortable sensation of feeling his own heartbeat. Oikawa squawks sleepily, and Hajime reaches for another blanket. 

“Iwa-cha-”  
“No.” He murmurs, resolutely not turning around. There must be another blanket in here, he knows there’s more than one, if it’s not here, where is it?  
“Iwa-chan, please-”  
“No.” He murmurs again, reviewing his decision. He’s weak right now. He should have gone to a hotel, he knows he should have done. 

“Hajime just-”  
“No.”  
“Sleep here, just to-”  
“No…”  
“Just tonight, please? Hajime, please?” 

It’s so quiet and pathetic. So, so pathetic. 

Hajime practically hears his will shattering, and sighs heavily, sliding the cupboard door shut with a sinking feeling of utter inevitability. 

“Fine. Only ‘cause you’re being so dumb.” He remarks. “And no hugging me.” He adds, slipping in awkwardly under the covers, manually shoving Oikawa out of the way, and pretends not to hear the choked gasp. 

Closing his eyes, he tries to breathe normally, although he can feel eyes on him, piercing and almost a presence in themselves. The weight of it, the regret, the thoughts swell up and start to suffocate him. 

“Iwa-chan, relax.” Oikawa murmurs, voice thick with sleepiness, and Hajime thinks if he had the courage to look across at him, he’d be smiling. 

He’s not scared of Oikawa. He’s not scared of his thoughts. 

He looks across, and just as predicted, Oikawa is smiling. Hajime is hit with the thought that he doesn’t mind nights and the dark if they draw the truth out of Oikawa. 

“I am relaxed.” He says, which earns him a giggle; it’s that that makes him feel more at home.  
“You cleaned?” Oikawa asks, and shifts more onto his side, so he can look without craning his neck. Hajime doesn’t move, except to nod. “Such a mother hen, Iwa-chan.” Like he knows Hajime is off guard, like he knows it won’t even get him an insult or a threat right now. He just snorts. 

“Someone had to do it, and it clearly wasn’t gonna be you.” He directs his eyes back at the ceiling. Right now, with Matsukawa’s rant in his mind, and tiredness breaking his walls down, it’s not safe. None of this is safe. But he doesn’t regret coming. No matter how he tries to hide it, Oikawa is in a state, and he might not be obviously broken, but he’s damaged by all this. He needed Hajime. 

Hajime? Or just someone? Anyone? 

He feels like he knows the answer to that. It scares him. 

“I think Matsukawa and Hanamaki are going out.” He says, the first thing on his mind that isn’t directly related to the man lying right next to him. Except it is, because everything in Hajime’s life comes back to him eventually. Oikawa gasps. 

“Mattsun and Makki? Really?” Hajime nods. “But how do you know?” He chuckles under his breath. Dumbasses, the lot of them. 

“Hanamaki, that shit, sent a selfie that kind of cemented it. But I guessed, and Matsukawa didn’t argue.” He thinks that had been what had happened, anyway. The change from Hanamaki to Takahiro, the slip of it, like it was natural in another place… They always had been so happy with each other. 

“I want to see that photo. Send it to me, I need blackmail material.” Oikawa murmurs, sounding excited about it. 

“You really do have a shitty personality.” Hajime says, closing his eyes, and breathing out, slow. Then borrows words from Matsukawa. “You don’t seem surprised.” 

Oikawa hums, and shifts slightly. Hajime anticipates a touch that doesn’t come, yet. 

“They always were really close. I have to know everything. When did they get together? Yahaba owes me if it’s-”  
“Were you betting on them getting together?” He asks, knowing full well it had gone on. In retrospect, he’d be surprised if there weren’t furtive bets about him and Oikawa, knowing their teammates. He can somehow imagine Watari grumbling and giving money to a smug Yahaba if he ever found out. Somehow, he can imagine Yahaba right at the centre of it. Or Kunimi. That child always saw a little too much when he wanted to look. “You shouldn’t mess with people’s relationships like that.” He says, sleepy. 

No, perhaps Kunimi was intel. Although there had been whispers about his own connection to Kindaichi, soulmates and not hiding it at all. Knowing the way Oikawa was, there was probably a furtive information network on their every move. Oikawa always did seem to know where to find him at lunch breaks, even if he was in the most random places. 

“Even my own?”  
His head snaps around, but Oikawa’s looking away, at the ceiling.  
“You bet on us?” Hajime asks, and feels like the foundations of his pride crumble down around him as Oikawa slowly turns his head, it’s like a horror film, calculating eyes on him and he can’t move, what has he done. “I mean, bet on the team? Us, the team. You know what I meant.” 

His breath has stopped in his chest. He knows, just _knows_ he’s not gotten away that easy. 

“Are…” Oikawa starts, weirdly uncertain. Hajime has the instinct to run. “Would you be more angry if I said yes? Or no?” 

Why does that break him? 

In a second, he finds himself staring down at Oikawa, his eyes so wide, Hajime’s knees either side of his hips and Hajime’s hands either side of his head, and barely daring to breathe. What is he doing? 

“What do you want from me?” He rushes to say. He didn’t think Oikawa’s eyes could get wider, but they somehow do. “What do you want from me? No lies, no deceit. No covering it up, just the truth. What is it that you want from me?” 

Oikawa licks his lips. He looks so shocked, their gazes locked. Oikawa opens his mouth, and shuts it. He does that again.  
“I won’t run.” Hajime says, feeling like the words he’s saying are not completely under his control. His hands clench into fists. “I won’t run, I won’t hit you. I just want the truth, T- Tohru.” 

His face is burning, and red. He feels like he might be glowing, a source of light by which to see the way Oikawa’s pupils dilate, a weird gasp emitted from him like he doesn’t know, he lifts his hands to curl them around Hajime’s wrists, not trying to free himself, not trying to get away, just holding him. Hajime feels his heart stutter in his chest. 

“What do you want?” he says again, pleading. He needs to know. Wants to know. 

Oikawa blinks languidly, so slowly Hajime feels sure time has slowed, and his mouth opens again to forms words, so quiet it’s barely a breath, but Hajime hears it. 

“ _You_.” 

Oikawa has never been able to lie directly to his face. If he’s facing Hajime, looking him in the eye, when he says something, he’s not lying, because he knows Hajime will catch him. 

His gaze never falters. Never flickers away from him. 

The long fingers around his wrists tighten. His pulse thrums all through his body. 

“Always just- just…” Oikawa breathes. “You, Hajime. But you never- And I-” 

Hajime wishes he could get this on camera, the uncertainty. The hesitance. It’s foreign on Oikawa, and Hajime doesn’t actually think he likes it that much, but it’s rare. 

“Dumbasses.” Hajime says. “The both of us.” He adds when Oikawa looks set to object, and his eyes go wider again – how is he doing that. His nails start to bite into the flesh of Hajime’s arms, fingers curling tighter like he’s trying to hold onto a dream, trying to stop things getting away from him. “Absolute. Fucking. Idiots.” With each word he draws closer, and he thinks he likes seeing Oikawa so shocked. So disarmed. The only one who can get him to that state. 

He stops about two inches from Oikawa’s face. Hajime thinks he might have stopped breathing; he hovers there for a second, two, and then- 

Flops back onto his back, smirking widely.  
“Can’t get up to anything while you’re injured.” 

He can admit to himself that he’s scared. He’s not done much outside of his own bathroom, and none of it involved Oikawa. 

Oikawa who makes _the_ most fantastic noise of disgust and betrayal. He pulls on Hajime’s wrists, and when that doesn’t work, rolls over, hisses slightly in pain, and pauses. 

“You can’t just! Iwa-chan, you are not just a brute, you are a scoundrel, a tease! How can you just-!” He wails. Hajime bites his lips to keep himself from laughing, shudders from the effort. 

“We’ll talk in the morning.” Hajime just about manages to say with an even tone. Oikawa makes some kind of dissenting croak, that sounds more like a high pitched frog in his throat.  
“It _is_ the morning, Iwa-chan!” He cries. Hajime twists his hands to grab Oikawa’s wrists, like they always used to in that game where they spun each other around as fast as they could go, in lieu of a roundabout. It always made them both dizzy; weirdly, it’s having a similar effect on Hajime now. 

“Later morning. I’m tired. I need sleep. You need sleep.” He says, and slides his eyes over to meet Oikawa’s- Tohru’s, really, isn’t it now? It should be. It closes a distance between them, mental if nothing else. “I suppose for tonight I’ll allow hugs.” He adds. Tohru pretty much beams, and rolls completely over so he’s practically lying on Hajime, his uninjured knee between Hajime’s, a thrill of heat shooting throughout Hajime. Tohru presses his nose right in the junction between Hajime’s neck and the pillow, and breathes out obnoxiously slowly. He knows it’s going to have an effect. 

“I _suppose_ ,” he starts haughtily. “I can cope for a few more hours.” 

He doesn’t want to, Hajime can tell. But equally, Hajime is also really tired. And they do need to talk first, before they do anything else rash. 

“I suppose you will.” It earns him a huff that’s probably meant to break his will. But Hajime has had years of practice denying Tohru, and three times in one night is a little much, even for him. He closes his eyes, and falls.

* * *

It is, as he supposes he ought to have predicted, horrendously awkward in the morning. Tohru is still half over him, and there is definitely another pressure against his leg (but that’s not a new thing, they’d always just kind of not mentioned it before, but in the context, maybe it _is_ a new thing- he’s not thinking about that) and he has to squirm out of his octopus-like grasp to visit the bathroom. 

Oikawa- Tohru- (it’s messing with his head, now) blinks sleepily at him when he returns, disgusting tea in one hand (not quite as disgusting in the morning, only half the amount of milk and one and a half sugars (why the fuck does he know this (because he’s apparently been in love for about a decade and not realised))) and black coffee in the other. He rounds the bed to put the tea on Tohru’s side, notices a little picture frame of the Aoba Jousai team, an informal one on the table there, and smiles slightly. 

Tohru watches him the entire time, follows his movement back to the other side, the side they’d both ended up sleeping on. Watches him put his coffee down, lift up the covers and shoo him further across so he has room to sit, and sips his coffee, staying silent. 

“If,” Tohru starts, his voice croaky. He clears his throat. “If I visit the toilet-”  
“When.” Hajime points out, mostly to be annoying. Tohru ignores his comment, eyes burning a hole into Hajime’s side.  
“Will you still be here when I get back?” He asks, and waits. 

Hajime raises an eyebrow at him.  
“I said I wasn’t running.” He responds mildly. “You have until I finish my coffee.” Tohru harrumphs, and dashes out the room. It gives Hajime an opportunity to observe the damage to his knee; not broken, as Matsukawa had said. Sprained, probably, like before. Come to think of it, Matsukawa had been pissed at him at the time, and had probably been exaggerating. Not like Hajime had taken him seriously, he’d just been worried at the time, but thankfully it wasn’t actually broken. 

Hajime sighes, staring into a gloomy corner of Oikawa Tohru’s room. What the fuck is he doing? He has no idea how this shit works. He just makes disgusting tea and threatens and apparently, somewhere in the middle of ten years, falls. And doesn’t notice until he’s hit the bottom. Huffing a laugh under his breath, he thinks he left his phone in the other room. He’d not planned on staying here, not at all. Maybe Hanamaki has sent him another dubiously sendable selfie of him and Matsukawa, grinning in the same bed, with probably about as many clothes as they would shower in. Maybe Watari has left a message asking him to return to beat sense into Kyoutani. Maybe Kyoutani has left another English message for him to decipher, and Hajime can see the smug grin on his face. Maybe his mother has left him an invite to come home for dinner sometime. 

Maybe each and every one of them knows, automatically, that something monumental has shifted in Hajime’s life. Maybe none of them know. Maybe none of them have guessed. 

Tohru pokes his head around the door, as though expecting Hajime to have vanished. 

Matsukawa has probably guessed. Therefore Hanamaki knows. It probably stops there, they’re not that big of assholes to tell everyone without at least hinting to Hajime first. 

Tohru scuttles in, tucks himself under the covers, and after a second, shuffles closer to Hajime. 

Then again. 

“If I hit you, will it seem real?” He intones, taking another sip of coffee. Tohru squawks, and scrambles to drink some of his tea. “I’m willing to, you know. You have a very stupid expression right now.” 

“So mean, Iwa-chan!” Tohru exclaims, pouting, then considers something, tilting his head. It’s almost cute if Hajime couldn’t just about predict what he’s going to say. “None of my one-night stands have made me tea like this.” 

Yeah, Hajime didn’t need that, not this early in the morning, not ever, really. It makes him angry. 

“Not that you’re a one-night stand.” Tohru follows up with. Hajime slides his gaze over to him, eyebrow raised. “I mean, for a start, you’re a tease. For a second, this isn’t the first time.”  
“For a third, you have really weird tea, and no one would guess you have it so disgustingly-”  
“For a third, I don’t want you to leave.” 

Was there air in Hajime’s lungs? There isn’t now. 

He’d have some coffee, but he’d choke. His face is red, he can feel it. 

“I’m sorry.” Tohru whips his head around, and Hajime can see the fear start to take root. “I take it back. If you even remember.”  
“What.” Tohru whispers. “What do you take back?” Like it pains him. Hajime takes a deep breath and looks straight at him.  
“I don’t regret we’re linked.” He announces. Tohru’s lips crack into a laugh, then a smile, then he fully laughs. 

“How could you regret being linked to me? I’m only the best person ever.”  
“I’m thinking more the worst, actually.” Hajime comments, unable to keep himself from smiling. He shifts his coffee to his right hand, and lets his left hand lie between the two of them. 

Tohru practically throws his tea down to entwine them.  
“You love me really.” Just a hint. That’s all Hajime detects, of uncertainty in his voice.  
“It’s entirely possible.” 

Tohru looks up at him like he made the world. Hajime thinks, with a bit of egotistic glee, that he might well have made Tohru’s world, this very day. 

He talks.

* * *

They clear the air, and everything feels so much brighter than it had done; Hajime eats his pride to send a simple _thanks_ to Matsukawa, and carefully doesn’t look too hard at Hanamaki’s selfie. Watari hasn’t left a voice message but a text, a mere string of emojis. Kyoutani has sent something in English, but Hajime is not up to translation right now. Nothing from Yahaba. 

He makes Tohru breakfast. Or lunch, more accurately, and a few other dishes to put in his freezer that should last him the week. It’s therapeutic, listening half-heartedly to the commentary on one of the games Tohru puts on to analyse, so absorbed it’s ridiculous. He drags him away to eat lunch, and he still looks like he can’t quite believe it, like it’s not sunk in at all. 

Hajime is kind of in a daze himself. 

He also has to go back to his classes, which is kind of a shame but he also needs some space to process. He stands at the door to Tohru’s flat, listing again the things he’s left in the freezer, and to look after himself, and ignoring the grin that’s spreading over Tohru’s face. Eventually, though, he runs out of things to chide him about, and Tohru looks more like the Cheshire Cat than any kind of human being. 

“Don’t I get a goodbye kiss, Iwa-chan?” 

“I suppose you might get that much.” His heart beats wildly, an echo of last night. Tohru sidles closer the best he can without wincing, weird considering he’s taller than Hajime. Hajime, ever the not-romantic, goes straight in for the kill. 

It ends up a little more like a headbutt than a kiss. 

“You even kiss like a brute! Iwa-chaaaaan!” Tohru whines, rubbing his nose. Hajime is embarrassed, but he tries not to let it show; he knows Oikawa has kissed about a thousand more people than he has, knows he’s more experienced, and he’s trying not to let that get to him. But he grins at Hajime, which just seems dangerous. “It’s okay! I’ll teach you. I’m a bit of a hands-on teacher though, Iwa-chan.” 

His voice goes low, and it _does_ things to Hajime, although that may also be the way Tohru has backed him up against the door and tilted his head back with two fingers under his jaw, lazy smirk on his lips as he draws closer. 

“Are you ready this time?” He murmurs, breath sliding over Hajime’s face, his eyes glinting. The fingers under his jaw transform to running his thumb along his jaw, his hand sauntering over Hajime’s skin to weave into his hair, and grabs it, tilting his head more. Hajime gasps. 

“Get on with it!” He growls, which only makes Tohru smirk more.  
“So impatient, Iwa-chan…” 

But he does deign to actually kiss him, slow in the way ice melts in summer, the taste of yakiniku mingling with something entirely unique Hajime has never tasted before, and it’s not quite everything he’s ever wanted (he can think of a few other things…) but it’s pretty damn close, and Hajime is perfectly willing to take that. 

He’s also sure his heart can’t take much more right now, emotionally exhausted, and he presses a hand to Tohru’s collarbone, and gently pushes, until it naturally ends, Tohru’s breathing over his face and his eyes fluttering open, staring at Hajime through his ridiculously long eyelashes. 

“I have to go.” He says, regretting it somewhat, because his instincts want him to chase Tohru back to-

He’s not thinking about that right now. Not at all. 

Tohru pouts.  
“So soon?”  
“I’ve been here for a whole day.” He shoots back.  
“You were sleeping for some of that.”  
“You were on me for that whole time, don’t act like you were missing out.” Hajime returns, and grimaces when Tohru’s eyes light up.  
“But not quite-”  
“And I’m going.” Hajime says, and Tohru does, if grumpily, shift back. Hajime leaves it for a moment, watching his pout get more pronounced and ridiculous. “And I’ll be back. Or knowing you, you’ll turn up at my door.” 

Tohru grins; Hajime leaves before he does anything else. 

 

Epilogue: 

A while later, sat on a fast train back home, feeling a little like he’s actually between homes, he has a thought, and sends a text. 

‘ _we could get revenge on ushiwaka_ ’ he types. Moments later:

‘ _Whatever are you suggesting, my dear Iwa-chan?_ ’ 

He laughs to himself. 

‘ _Do a freak quick couple trick on ushiwaka’s mark_

He thinks the string of emojis and exclamation marks is something akin to a yes. 

He can be an asshole too, at times. He’ll admit that.

**Author's Note:**

> This is connected to my other soulmate fic, Moving and Matching, purely because I was wondering about Oikawa's side of things. And then ende up writing it from Iwaizumi's point of view. Oh well. It spiralled into this, whatever this is. You don't necessarily need to read that one to understand this one, though. Hope you like it!
> 
> Also, I cannot write smut at all, what-so-ever. Sorry if you were expecting that...


End file.
